


Loose

by mjolkk (glassamilk)



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Enthusiastic Consent, F/F, F/M, Lots and lots of blow jobs, M/M, McCoy feels, Multi, Oral Fixation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 10:55:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassamilk/pseuds/mjolkk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain James T. Kirk has a big mouth. Captain James T. Kirk has no gag reflex. Captain James T. Kirk has <i>a lot</i> of friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loose

**Author's Note:**

> Another re-working of an older story of mine. Mostly an excuse just to tout Kirk around like the lovely, incorrigible poon-hound that he is with a light serving of Kirk/Bones feels at the very end.

**fix·a·tion**  - noun -  _\fik-ˈsā-shən\_  
  
Definition of FIXATION:  
  
The act, process, or result of fixing, fixating, or becoming fixated: as  
  
 **a:**  a persistent concentration of libidinal energies upon objects characteristic of psychosexual stages of development preceding the genital stage  
  
 **b:**  stereotyped behavior (as in response to frustration)  
  
 **c:**  an obsessive or unhealthy preoccupation or attachment

* * *

  
  
James Kirk has always been a man of many talents.  
  
He can consume alcohol at the speed of light, for example, and he’s pretty sure no one can bust heads like he does. He can build things and he can blow through crossword puzzles faster than Gaila can download interspecies porn. He can keep a tight budget, take care of his people, and fold the perfect paper airplane.  
  
He also has this trick he’s pretty proud of.  
  
He usually breaks it out at parties when everyone is too drunk to remember that they’ve seen it a million times, waving over their attention and standing on a chair so that they can all see him do it. He uses whatever is handy; usually a banana or something similarly shaped, and makes a show of cramming it into his mouth, holding onto the end with two fingers, taking a bow when they all “ooh” and “aah”. (Which they do, it just usually sounds like unrelated conversation or someone yelling for more beer.)  
  
He can’t remember ever having a gag reflex. It occasionally makes getting sick annoying, but for the most part, it’s done him nothing but good, garnering him tasteful golf claps at public gatherings and a lot of free bananas.  
  
It also works well with his second biggest talent: having not an ounce of shame in his entire body.  
  
Maybe it’s because he sucked his thumb until he was a teenager or maybe because his mom dropped a log of firewood on his head when he was six, but he’s always had a weird compulsion to have something in his mouth. Gum, cigarettes, bottle caps, pens, he always needs something to be there, otherwise he just feels awkward and naked, like something’s missing. Half the time, he isn’t even aware of his absent chewing or sucking until he’s hacking up bits of plastic or someone is making a disgusted comment about him biting his nails and he has to sit on his hands to keep from nibbling away at his fingers. It doesn’t help either that he was graced with luscious, sensitive lips. Putting stuff in his mouth just happens to feel good, no matter how often someone smacks his wrist when he makes a grab for their pen.  
  
Which isn’t to say that the others disapprove of his habit. Quite the opposite, really.  
  
As it turns out, it boils down quite simply:  
  
No gag reflex + inherent need for something in his mouth + desperate attention whore = Jim being very, very popular.  
  
Not that they don’t also love him for his charming good looks and dazzling personality.  
  
Sulu sees him, at the very least, once a month. Never alone-- he always brings Checkov with him, pulling him inside with their pinkies linked together like little damn boys, never saying hello or offering small talk where Jim is concerned, perfectly content to limit his involvement in the situation to his head down and his knees on the floor. That’s the connection to outside life, Jim thinks. Even when he doesn’t have his pants around his ankles, Sulu has never been one for idle, pointless conversation, not in his every day life and certainly not in his casual sex life. Hikaru Sulu is a _professional_. The only time he ever says anything during their little meet-ups is when the lights are low and he has a hand running up and down Checkov’s back while they both slide in and out of Jim’s mouth, slipping against each other as they move back and forth, sweat-slick hair stuck to their faces, focused on only each other. (He’s always a little offended by this-- it’s a damn fine skill to be able to take two at a time and the  _least_  they could do is acknowledge his hard work.) Jim is never sure what it is that Sulu says though; he’s often too busy trying keep his teeth back and his breath steady. But he can make an educated guess.  
  
Sulu always has had a thing for Checkov whispering breathy, debauched Russian in his ear.  
  
In that same line of thinking, the situation is the same with Spock, but worse. Spock comes to him rarely, only a few times throughout the year, generally as soon as his annual (and very time consuming) crew reviews are finished and filed, and it’s always with an obnoxiously quiet mood that never fails to rub Jim the wrong way. He always pretends that he doesn’t want to be there, even as he spreads his legs and watches his zipper be plucked up and tugged down between Jim’s teeth. His face rarely changes, always stuck in that “I’m-so-stoic-don’t-bother-me-right-now-you-useless-plebian” expression that nobody on the ship actually buys. But Jim doesn’t mind it. He’s never been uncomfortable around Spock and his expressionless expressions. He never has been and he never will be, especially when he’s bobbing up and down between his legs, lapping at him and coaxing forth those little, unhinged sounds that he knows no one else can get out of him. Spock’s big. Bigger than he knows Uhura could handle, and it gives him a sense of smug satisfaction like no other every time his first officer’s hands clench around the chair he always sits in. And for as fleeting as his visits are and for as ungrateful as he always is, Jim always finishes him off with a smile, letting Spock come on his face to let him have that little idea that he is the one still in control of the situation.  
  
And what a laugh  _that_  is.  
  
For as often as it might appear otherwise and for as slippery his reputation might be, Jim is always the one in charge, no matter the situation, whether his guest knows it or not. His (admittedly infrequent) visits with Pike are a prime example of how subtle of an art it can be-- the finesse required in keeping someone oblivious and happy.  
  
Pike has an air about him, something stuck somewhere between arrogance and carefully crafted sarcasm, and it follows him wherever he goes. He likes to be the one in control of things, whether it be an argument about theoretical physics or what he’s ordering for lunch, and he never really does lose it. Jim assumes it comes from that whole admiral thing. Whatever it may be, Pike is always aloof during his impromptu drop-ins, his cool direction always coming along with him. Or so he would like to think.  
  
Whenever he shows up, he’s always straight to business, right from the get-go, breezing his way through the door and yanking Jim’s collar, sleeve, whatever he can get a hold of, dragging him off to the bedroom that he knows is at the end of the hall on the senior officers deck, kicking off his shoes as they go and raking his free hand up and down Jim’s belly. He never bothers to shut the door inside, usually too preoccupied with mouthing at Jim’s neck by that time, and the attention that he lavishes in those first five or ten minutes is always a welcome change from the usual dry starts that he’s used to. (Although, the teeth marks that he leaves behind can be a bother when it comes time to dress for important meetings or for his next duty shift.) For as nice as it is, though, the licking and biting eventually dissolves into Pike grinding up against his thigh and roughly palming his crotch until he flips him around and jostles him onto his knees, leaning back against the bed frame looking expectant and impatient while Jim nimbly unbuckles his belt. He always grins while he watches, right up until those first, burning touches when Jim’s fingers wrap around him. That’s when the smile falters and he takes the initiative to take a hold of the situation, winding his hand in Jim’s hair and dragging him down until he knows Jim can taste him. He never does just want a quick blow-- he’s more the mouth-fucking kind of guy. The kind of guy who gets off on snapping his hips forward and burying himself as deep as he can which, in Jim’s case, is all the way. And, of course, Jim lets him do just that. He lets Pike pretend that he is always one step ahead of the game, his fingernails occasionally drawing beads of red from Jim’s scalp when he forces himself in and out, face flushed and mouth tense around curses.  
  
Things are always rough with Pike. The kind of rough that leaves him needing chapstick and a change of pants when they finish.  
  
Jim doesn’t mind the rough, but there are some situations where it simply can’t be applied. Nights with the girls, to name one example. Crass as he often is, he has a very strong set of morals when it comes to treating a lady right and, unless they explicitly ask for it, being forceful just isn’t usually included. If they request it, he’ll oblige under the condition that they keep it to themselves and not go around blathering about how he left bite bruises on the insides of their thighs and rug burn against their back.  
  
It always is a pleasant surprise to get a call from one of the girls, though. A nice change of pace to be greeted at the door with a smile instead of being pushed back into his own quarters and  _always_  a fine switch in feel. He’d never deny that he loves the weight of a cock in his mouth, but there’s just something sweeter about the curve of rounded hips and the soft peach skin beneath layers of lace and nylon that he gets the treat of unwrapping. He likes the difference-- the sensual, calm worship that is expected of him rather than a breathless sex-fight. (Not that he hasn’t had those positions reversed. Yeoman Rand has met him with stiletto heels more than a few times and M’Benga always likes his slow and saccharine.)  
  
Uhura is a perfect balance of both and it never fails to excite him when he gets those after-shift rotation calls. She never answers the doors to her quarters when he knocks; Christine is always the one to greet him, as cordial as ever as she takes his belongings and leads him down the short and sparsely decorated hall to the bedroom where the barest hint of flowery perfume lingers outside the door like an invitation. She’ll let Jim in first, a slight incline of her head for permission, and Uhura will always be waiting for him in the same bed, laying on top of the same gray, Starfleet regulation sheets, in the same black belts and garters. It’s classy, somehow, seeing her with her slim legs crossed, barely hidden by the sheer curtains that Christine had replicated for them a few months prior, a small smile playing on her lips when she says hello. It’s that little attention to detail that makes playing with the girls so fun; things like the perfume and sheets and lingerie.  
  
The lace is deceptive, however, as Uhura is always commanding. She likes him shirtless, sometimes just unbuttoned, and she keeps a small, jeweled pin on the nightstand to clip his hair back and see his whole face (he still hasn’t quite figured that one out yet). She walks him through what she wants, hands roaming over his back and hips as he works his way down, her eyes closed and bitten lips just barely parted until he places his palms on her knees and spreads her legs, wide enough to get started while still showing off enough for Christine. She’ll indulge him; roll her hips and stroke two fingers up his neck, letting him take his time because she appreciates his appreciation just as much as he appreciates her letting him appreciate her. He lets his hands linger, deftly unclipping her garters while he mouths at her through already damp panties, Christine somewhere in the background, two fingers clenched between her teeth while her other hand slips between her bare legs. If there is one thing Jim has learned, it is that Christine Chapel enjoys being a spectator. He’s offered his services to her before, but she has declined each time, more interested in watching Nyota’s naked body tremble beneath the hands of another person. The rest is Uhura gripping the sheets and arching her back, barely restrained breath caught in her flushed chest, Jim stroking her thighs and fluttering his tongue against her until all of that carefully planned sexuality is replaced with raw, wet  _want_ , swallowed up by goose bumps and curling toes as he plunges his tongue into her.  
  
He never is allowed to use his hands on her in that respect. He’s not terribly fond of that rule, but it’s Christine’s one stipulation and he figures he better not fuck with it, especially when Uhura is so sweet when she comes undone. Her hair never stays up when she starts bucking and by the time her breath stops heaving, she’s a rumpled, sweaty mess, panting and blushing, looking so absolutely ravishable that it makes him wish they could take things a step further.  
  
But that’s against the rules too. And it’s  _his_  rule.  
  
Putting his mouth to work is one thing, hopping into bed is another. He doesn’t mind dealing out head, but it honestly offends him when it’s assumed that a good blow comes paired with a good fuck. The chain of events is simple: they get together, they both get off, they go their separate ways. No hanging around long enough for things to get awkward. It’s his guiding procedure and he prides himself on maintaining it in the strictest sense possible.  
  
Well.  
  
Except for that one, little exception.  
  
Sort of.  
  
Jim has been with pretty much everyone at least once and he’s seen about everything. He knows just about everything about everyone when it comes to how they deal with their orgasms; Cupcake tends to cry, Scotty immediately comms Keenser about it, DeSalle eats something and demands round two, the list goes on and on. There are a lot of unique ways that they handle things, but there is one, all-encompassing trait they all posses: kicking off when they’re done. Sometimes, they’ll stay long enough for a shared drink or a shower if things went particularly well, but all in all, they’re usually in and out in an hour or so. And that’s fine; if Jim wanted commitment, he’d find it and if he minded them taking off, he’d stop offering up blowjobs to every person he knows. It’s just a fun thing that he does that keeps everybody entertained and there isn’t a thing wrong with that.  
  
But, every now and then, it’s nice to feel appreciated.  
  
And that’s when he breaks his own rule.  
  
Whenever Leonard invites him over, it is always in person, usually after a mission or crew dinner, his CMO pulling him aside while everyone else mills about, awkwardly extending an offer to get together at some later date. (They always schedule it-- Leonard doesn’t do spontaneity.) It’s a little bit cute when he invites him over; he’s just so crotchety and short-fused that when he finally does have his own needs, he has to flounder his way through innuendos that make it sound like he wants to do something else even though he, Jim, and everyone else in the entire world knows exactly what’s going down. He doesn’t turn red or stammer like Checkov or Finney do, but there’s just such a God-awful air of embarrassment that Jim usually stops him half-way through his schpeel, signs off on a date in his planner, and ends that particular conversation there until the day he actually arrives.  
  
Leonard rarely comes over to Jim’s quarters for a roll in the hay, always inviting him over instead, going so far as to offer making dinner. When he gets there, Bones is always waiting for him in his usual off-duty clothes with a pot of strong coffee and a blissfully quiet living space, communication barred from sickbay unless in case of a dire emergency so that Leonard can have twenty-four hours to himself. They eat in relative silence, most of the talking coming from Jim’s end in an effort to get him to relax, and coffee is long and drawn out as Leonard avoids the issue at hand, obviously  _wanting_  to get down to business, but not having the faintest idea as to how he should go about asking for it. Divorced men rarely do, in Jim’s experience. Eventually, he will suggest they move to the bedroom and they will, but only after Leonard cleans and puts away the dishes.  
  
Oddly enough, once he’s actually  _in_  his bedroom, a lot of the tense awkwardness eases up. Familiar environments, Jim supposes. His confidence starts to return, lured out by the siren call of oral sex, and slowly but surely, he’ll work up enough courage to ask, gruffly, for Jim to hurry up (dammit) and strip down to his shorts and join him in bed. Which, of course, Jim has already started doing, shirt dropped over the back of a chair with his pants while Leonard’s sit, perfectly folded, in the laundry hamper.  
  
Compared to other requests he’s gotten, Leonard is the most vanilla person he knows. Scotty is fond of the good old 69 and he knows for damn sure that Carol never leaves home without at least one vibrating egg inserted somewhere in her person, so it’s always an interesting switch when Leonard lies down on his back, propped up by pillows that could very well pass for bricks, and has Jim shift down on his stomach, between his legs with both hands gripping his hips. And that’s all; there’s no scratching or choking or dirty talk-- he just leans back against the headboard, breathing, keeping his hands to himself while Jim slips his tongue up his length, raw and wet, teasing him with laps and hot sighs against his skin. He never just dives into it with Bones. Oral is oral is oral, but when it comes to this particular situation, it’s an act to be savored.  
  
Leonard, for all his awkwardness, is a very, very well off. Enough so that even Jim sometimes has problems getting him all the way in. He always has to brace himself, palms against the bed, when he finally stops playing and starts to sink onto him, lips tight and stretching and eyes half shut in concentration. He’ll be freshly showered, like he always is, tasting clean and warm, something Jim can appreciate after so many sweaty hook-ups after bar crawls or late night transports, and he can feel every little twitch and quiver that shakes up through Leonard’s carefully constructed composure of piss and vinegar. He likes those little breaks. It’s like a victory that he can literally taste.  
  
He can count the number of times he’s been with Leonard on both hands, but he still knows every crevice to explore and every little secret place to snake pressure against. He knows right where to lick and the right moment to push past his palate, swallowing motions timed for maximum impact that always makes Leonard hiss. He knows where to kiss, where to touch, where to feel. He knows because he pays attention to things that he likes.  
  
And while he’s never been one for playing favorites, if he had to pick a favorite dick, it would be Leonard’s.  
  
Sometimes, if he’s really lucky, Leonard might unwind enough to drop shaking hands on his shoulders. He won’t say anything, but with every time Jim pulls up, his back flexes and Leonard’s fingers squeeze him, egging him on without words, occasionally hunching over so that he can slide his palms down Jim’s bare back to dig into his hips, always wanting to inch lower but never doing so. Those are the extra fun times. The times when he knows he’s doing such a damn fine job that Leonard forgets that he’s too grumpy to be handsy.  
  
Jim, though, has always been a hands-on kind of guy and he can’t resist kneading into Leonard’s muscled thighs, over and under, scraping his nails against rough skin that has no business always being covered up by perfectly starched dress pants. His stomach too-- it’s a crying shame he doesn’t wear his tank tops in public more often because damned if his shoulders aren’t one of the seven wonders of the world.  
  
His one complaint would be that Leonard never does last that long as he’d like. It’s a long process to get him in bed, but once things do get moving, the timer starts running down, and quick. He figures it’s because Leonard doesn’t bother to get himself laid very often, or maybe because he’s still figuring out how to have sex again in his new post-Jocelyn life, but it doesn’t take long before he’s biting his fist and trying not to buck his hips despite all of Jim’s squeezing encouragement, hips shaking while the heat rushes out of him and straight down Jim’s throat. He always makes eye contact while he comes and Jim can’t quite figure out why, but he looks right back at him and swallows every drop before sliding himself off and flicking his tongue out to catch anything he might have missed.  
  
That is where things stop with everyone else. Jim will get up, ignoring the wet spot on the front of his underwear, make a quick trip to the bathroom, and leave after congratulating his partner on a job well done. He’ll spend the rest of the day in a good mood, jack off before bed, and get back to his normal work in the morning. It’s routine, practically a tradition.  
  
But Leonard is the exception to his own rule because he reverses their positions before Jim can even think of leaving. He’s still too awkward to graduate to using his mouth, but he has boldness enough to push Jim onto his back and slide a hand down to finish him off, a duty that never takes more than a few minutes if he hasn’t already jizzed in his pants somewhere along the way. And even that isn’t so out of the ordinary-- Sulu, Spock, Pike, and Gary have all been kind enough to return the gesture more than a few times too.  
  
What makes it interesting is that after they’ve both started breathing normally again, Leonard wants to  _cuddle._  
  
And not the sort of chokes-the-life-out-of-you-I-just-want-something-to-fall-asleep-on Scotty-style cuddling or the weird, huffy breathing, Janice-patented clinging. But serious business cuddling. After-glow kind of cuddling. The kind of cuddling that kinda makes his heart clench up a little bit.  
  
He’s not even sure if Leonard is aware of what he’s doing when he slips his arms around his stomach and pulls him down to lie beside him in bed, sidling up against his back and tucking his head down into his hair. He never bothers to redress either of them and the heat that builds up under the covers-- skin on skin, sex-warmed fingers stroking at his belly-- is so undeniably comfortable that Jim can never bring himself to leave. (Not that he ever really has anywhere important to be that he can ever remember in those times.) It’s never less than an hour, either. He’s not sure if Leonard needs that kind of physical contact to come down from his high or if he just  _really_ likes snuggling, but that prolonged stretch of quiet sighing and gentle touching always happens when they finish. They don’t make pillow talk or tangle their legs together, not like lovers, because that’s not what they are doing yet. Because Bones is divorced and jaded and Jim is loose and afraid of commitment. They just rest there, back to chest, and spoon for a while before one of them eventually figures they should get on with their day and their daffy little ritual ends with a slap on the shoulder and an invitation to do it again sometime soon.  
  
Jim wonders if Leonard will ever ask him to spend the night and wonders harder still if he’ll agree to it.  
  
Maybe.  
  
Probably.

Bones _is_ his favorite. 

**Author's Note:**

> I beg for your patience and forgiveness if any of this seems wildly out of character (esp the Kirk/Pike bit omg what even was that). I've been in the Trek fandom for about fifteen or sixteen years now, but it's only recently that I've started easing back into writing fan-fiction for it. I'm still trying to find my groove with these characters, especially in the Nu-Trek universe, so I hope that it will all be up from here and that all the dirty porn will improve with time. 
> 
> If you're at all interested in helping me get more practice in, Star Trek fic and drabble requests are open on my blog. I'm more or less picking the requests I get at random, but if you have an idea for a story or a scene you'd like to see, [feel free to let me know.](http://mjolkk.tumlbr/com/ask)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
